


Love is a Burning Thing

by runnerzero



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: It’s both, Other, Season/Series 01 Spoilers, Sparring, fighting or flirting?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:41:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28331043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runnerzero/pseuds/runnerzero
Summary: “Moving with Sara like this—it’s like dancing, like breathing. Every movement in sync, as natural as running beside each other. Ren moves and Sara is there. That’s how it’s always been. The two of them rising to meet each other.”
Relationships: Runner Five/Sara Smith, Sara Smith/Ren Swift (OC)
Kudos: 6





	Love is a Burning Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crownleys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crownleys/gifts).



> ZR Secret Santa gift for crownleys! 
> 
> (Vague spoilers for the end of s1)

Sara Smith has always been a burning thing. All heat and sharpness and energy, a force far out of anyone’s control. It’s impossible to predict what she might do next—the power behind an explosion, the heat behind a spark. 

From the moment they stepped through the gates, Ren knew that they would be a moth, relentlessly drawn into that flame. 

Whenever Sara catches them looking at her, she gives them a quiet and deadly smile. And yet when she invites them into the makeshift gym for a sparring match, just a few weeks into their runners’ training, Ren can’t help but follow. 

There wasn’t much touching at first. Ren would block as Sara threw punches in their direction, but over time, these drills turned into sparring, and the sparring turned into full-fledged combat. 

“You’re improving,” Sara said, almost sounding impressed, as they entered the gym one morning. It was still cold inside, breath fogging above their heads.

“Thanks,” they say, and then grin. “I bet I could kick your ass right now, if I wanted to.” 

“Oh, really?” Sara says with a sly smile. “How sure are you about that?” 

To be clear, this isn’t an excuse to get Sara on top of them. It hasn’t even crossed their mind before that moment, but it still happens, and they still end up with their back slammed into the mat in a matter of seconds. The few split seconds collapse into an eternity—the warmth of her body on top of them, the pulse of their heartbeat as she squeezes their wrists. It might have been a trick of the light, but Ren thinks there might be a flicker of longing in her eyes. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” she says, and it doesn’t sound implausible, in the moment. When you’ve looked death in the eye and death blinked first, nothing seems impossible, not even mind reading. Her eyes are digging deep, like she’s looking for something. They’re not sure what. 

The way Sara looks after a fight—bruises still blooming and braid coming undone—makes Ren spiral into thoughts they shouldn’t be thinking. They wonder if they kissed, would it taste like heat, like a collision, like iron on their tongue? 

Sara holds on for just a moment too long before climbing off and dusting off her pants. 

“Damn,” Ren says. “Maybe next week.”

\---

By now, they’ve settled into a routine. Sara jerks her head towards the entrance to the gym. There’s a flash of teeth when she laughs and Ren loves the way her face shifts, how quickly she slides into confidence. 

“Don’t worry,” she says, with a wave of her hand. “I’ll go easy on you.” 

Ren gives her a shove. “You know better than to hold back.” 

Sara grins wider, her eyes burning white-hot, and for a moment she looks like a match waiting to strike. 

They move to the back of the gym, towards their usual mat—padded, wide, and usually empty. The other runners know better than to take this corner of the gym during their sparring nights. 

Ren kicks off their shoes and drops down onto the mat, letting their body move through practiced lunges and stretches, moving into the rhythm of it. They watch as Sara does the same. 

They used to spar all the time. Whatever was growing between them ground to a halt after the zombie bite and her disappearance for months on end. Ren couldn’t bear to touch her for a long time, everything too fresh, too painful. 

But it didn’t take long for them to drop back into their routine. Moving with Sara like this—it’s like dancing, like breathing. Every movement in sync, as natural as running beside each other. Ren moves and Sara is there. That’s how it’s always been. The two of them rising to meet each other. 

For all Ren’s smack talk on the way there about getting old and “going soft,” she can still read their intentions as easily as she did in the beginning. Ren lunges and Sara dodges away. They swipe for her legs and she rolls out of the way. 

She’s favoring her left leg after an old injury, so Ren focuses their attention on her right, trying to get her off balance. That doesn’t seem to matter to her as she ducks underneath their kick and sweeps around their ankle. They topple to the ground with a yelp and she follows them down, bracing her knees around their waist with both hands on either side of their head. 

Sara is flushed, eyes bright with intensity and hair brushed by the light—she looks something close to divine. Ren’s world narrows down to the glint of her eyes and the sweat slick strands of hair that stick to her neck. 

Her mouth curls into a half smile. “Maybe I’m not the one who should be worrying about going soft,” she teases. 

They’ve barely warmed up. Ren usually doesn’t let themself get pinned so easily—and they’re not going to start now. They shove back against her, catching her in the side of the head until she rolls off. 

Their first rounds are always like that—back and forth. Rens takes in a sharp breath as they end up back on their feet, weaving around each other. 

Sara rolls and Ren dives after her. Sara throws a punch and Ren parries, bracing to throw her back. Time and time again, she slams Ren down on the mat. Still, they make her work for it, and it’s a well-worn dance between the two of them. 

Sara gets them down for the third time, knees digging down into their chest. Her grin is triumphant, her hair wild around her face, knocked loose from her ponytail. It’s not the force of her weight on Ren’s chest that makes it hard to breathe. 

“Do you yield?” She says, suddenly very close, her breath against the shell of their ear. 

Still, she pants above them, looking wild-eyed and sweaty. It’s the first time in a long time that Ren can remember seeing her truly looking exhausted. It gives them a small thrill—knowing that they can pull this from her, make her lose control. 

“Come on. Do you yield?” she asks again, her grip unrelenting on their wrists. But the look in her eye tells Ren that she already knows the answer. 

She lets out a bark of laughter when Ren throws her off again and they launch back into their usual dance—ducking, weaving, punching, dodging. She’s graceful and fluid as she drives into Ren’s blind spots, taking advantage of every moment where they’re off guard or lose their balance. 

After a few more back and forths, Sara finally gets them face down on the mat, her grip tight on their arm as she pins it against their back. Her fingers are threaded over Ren’s other hand, pinning that one too. Ren bucks up, trying to twist around. They manage to get halfway before she slams them back down on their back this time. The two are face to face. 

“Damn,” Ren says, breathless. They can feel the heave of Sara’s chest in return. “Maybe next week?” 

Their body aches in the best way, the way they love most—a bone-deep ache of a good fight, a win that Sara’s earned. Ren softens beneath her weight, but pulls one hand free to grab her shirt. 

“I yield,” they whisper, staring up at her. 

Sara smiles, wide and sharp as a knife. Looming over them, she looks golden, still glowing with sweat and the flush of her victory. Ren swallows, gazing up at her and not wanting to look away. They never want to look away. 

They linger there for a moment too long to just be casual. Months before, Sara would roll away, or Ren would jerk back like they had touched a hot stove. Instead, Sara stays above them, her breath smoothing out. She’s always softer after a fight, the heat and the sweat making her malleable, soft as wax under the early sun. 

When they kiss, the warmth of her mouth on theirs is just another reminder that they’re alive—moving and breathing—bones and sinew, curves and lines and edges, the wild pumping of their heart, the buzzing at their fingertips. Her mouth is so hot that it feels like she’s burning, and they wonder distantly why they aren’t burning with her. 

“So,” she says after they pull apart, smiling in that sharp way that makes Ren shiver. “What do I get for winning?”


End file.
